The first rays of pale sunlight pierce through the rising mists which carry the putrid stench of death. Bloody puddles water the ground with piles of frost-covered entrails that glisten like wet rubies.
˜ ˜ ˜
Algwain surveys the farmhouse, now stripped bare and blackened by the blistering fire and smoke. Fragile sunlight shines on his exhausted face through a hole in the charred roof.
The little girl quivers beneath a bundle of filthy rags. He holds her in his arms, and her tiny, bare feet curl in the icy wind. Algwain's gaze lingers on the charred remains of a hand-carved wooden doll in the smoking hearth. He steps between Eindred and Eifear and out through the doorway, emerging into the pale light of the morning. A blanket of ash covers the ground like a filthy frost, the wind rustles through patches of tall, brittle grass; and the cries of approaching scavenger birds punctuate the eerie silence.
Algwain's stomach twists into a knot as he treads amidst the limbs of the dead, scattered like loose stones. A flayed face stares back at him, eyes wide with silent, mortifying screams. He sidesteps the half-frozen body of the soldier, his flayed flesh glistening pink beneath a thin layer of frost.
The soldiers step back from the door, which falls inward with a thump, filling the air with clouds of ash. They collapse onto the floor, exhausted, and stare with bloodshot eyes through the open doorway, out to the rising dawn.
"By the old god—". Eindred stands, then emerges from the charred farmstead and gapes at the harrowing sight of the butchered dead. His shoulders slump as he closes his eyes to the nightmare. A shiver runs down his spine as the stench of death rides on the morning breeze, he retches a mouthful of bile onto the ground.
"Take a breath, Eindred," Algwain shields the girl's eyes, his rough hands pulls her tight against his chest. His eyes follow the frozen trails of blood.
"What evil did this?" Eindred's bewildered eyes search Algwain, seeking answers.
"Let's not linger to find out," Eifear strides out from the smoldering house and joins Algwain's side. "We need to put distance between us and whatever the feck they are."
Eifear lets out a low warning whistle and gestures toward the worn stone path that ascends from the valley. "General, we've got company." His hands instinctively reach for absent weapons.
A chestnut cob pulls a small wooden cart along the pathway. The wooden wheels creak to an abrupt halt. A frail old man leans forward, whispering calming words into the agitated cob's ear. The cob lowers its head, its ears flicking back and forth.
"Men of Galt, I am journeying east on an errand. I shall take you where you need to go," the old man's voice is tired and creaking, his back knotted and bent, clad in filthy, tattered robes that hang from his thin frame. He clings to his tall walking staff with a welcoming three-toothed grin. The old man extends an invitation for them to join him, his cataract eye glows in the pale sunlight.
They cautiously approach the peddler, muttering words of gratitude through cracked lips as they shuffle on weary feet to the rear of the cart. The cart is empty except for four dry woolen blankets and a battered old wooden chest.The cart groans in protest under their weight as they clamber into the back. The old man whispers to the cob, and the wooden wheels lurch forward, clattering over the grass and stone.
Algwain leans back, settling his bulk between his battered soldiers. He tugs at a dry woolen blanket and wraps it tightly around himself. His cold bare feet peek out from beneath the blanket, dangling over the edge of the cart. In his arms, the girl's chest rises and falls. His eagle perches on the cart, carrying a lump of fresh, bloody flesh in its beak.
Curse the shadows and nightmares which come untamed. Algwain feels a hollow lump consuming him from the inside out. Time drifts until the song of a winter thrush breaks the somber silence.
˜ ˜ ˜
The horse and cart come to a sudden creaking stop. "We will rest here," declares the old man, clambering down from the driver's seat. His skeletal legs shake as they touch the grass. He leans on his walking pole and takes slow, hunched steps towards the rear of the cart. He gestures towards the wooden chest, and Algwain reaches back and passes the chest to the old man. Knees bent, grunting with effort, the old man disappears into the thick grasses and yellow bushes of gorse flowers.
Algwain sits up and slides from the cart, his bare feet meeting the cold, damp grassy ground, his toes dig into the soft, earthy soil. He paces towards a small fire beside a stream.
"Thank you," Algwain's voice echoes in his own head. "I will reward your kindness when we reach Castle Galt." He places the sleeping girl beside the small fire, pulling the blanket tight around her.
"Reward, eh?" The old man stoops before the fire, tending a small metal pot that simmers with sweet tea. He passes Algwain a cup and gestures for him to drink. "Drink."
Algwain blows away the rising steam and takes a sip, savouring the warmth with a long sigh of relief. He inhales the aroma of honey, juniper, ginger, and wildflowers. The sun seems to shine brighter, and the birdsong grows louder.
Eindred and Eifear join them, their eyes fixated on the hypnotic flames. Each man drinks, and hesitant smiles transform into warming grins. They gather dry brush to feed the tiny fire, and the heady fragrance of juniper fills the air. They exchange solemn nods as their trembling hands feed the fire with practiced efficiency.
"Now, unless you want to suffer a slow and agonizing death from infection, I strongly suggest you apply this poultice," the old man cradles a large, heavy metal bowl in his gnarled hands." He grinds powders, liquids, herbs, and dried flowers, creating a thick, bright blue pulp with a rounded stone. "Apply this to your wounds. It will aid in your healing." he passes Algwain the bowl of poultice.
Algwain sniffs at the bowl, inhaling the foul odor of the healing herbs. He dips his finger into the blue mush and dabs it onto the tip of his tongue, his face contorts to the bitter taste.
"Eat no more," the old man cackles in laughter, "unless you wish to spend the rest of our journey squatting in the grass."
"What is it?" Algwain regains his manners, suppressing a cough. "I mean to say thank you."
"It is I who should thank you. As for the poultice, it is a mixture to aid your healing." The old man looks at the sleeping girl with a long sigh. "The girl will never fully heal. She will carry the pain of loss her whole life. When she awakens, she will remain silent for a time. No child should endure such wickedness. She owes you her life, a debt she will repay in due time."
Curious eyes study the frail old man. His owlish blue eye shines like starlight, while his cataract eye ripples like a pearl.
"Who are you?" Eifear grunts as he rubs his fingers over the dried herbs in the poultice, wrinkling his nose at the pungent stench.
"I am Nirtesh, a simple trader making my way to the far east," the old peddler flashes a three-toothed mouth of rotten teeth.
"A peddler with no goods to trade?" Eindred raises a quizzical brow in distrust.
"Not all goods are as they appear," the old peddler raises his gray mono-brow. "It is fortunate that our paths have crossed. A life on the road has taught me a few healing tricks. Now, apply the poultice before it sets."
"Alright, lads, a few herbs can't do us any more harm. We'll receive proper care once we return to Castle Galt," Algwain takes a handful of the poultice and rubs it onto Eindred's back.
"Feck, that's cold." Eindred's bemused frown turns into approval. "It numbs the pain?" He grunts, looking at the peddler in admiration.
Algwain applies the bright blue healing balm to Eifear's and Eindred's wounds before covering his own. He sighs in relief and raises questioning eyebrows as he notices the old man is also barefoot.
"Some burdens we must share," the barefooted peddler nods in sage response.
Algwain gazes up at the gathering clouds as the sky darkens. "We have only half a turn left to find a safe keep for the night. With luck, they'll have horses, and we can ride to Castle Galt."
"We are not heading to Castle Galt. Your path lies in a different direction," the old peddler says, rising to his feet.
"You do not know what hunts us, old man. We can't fight those creatures." Eindred's voice betrays his panic.
"I have no idea, do I? How fortunate that our paths have crossed?" The old peddler's eyes light up, and his cataract eye flickers with electric blue. "I know what hunts you. I know you, General Algwain of Galt; and you, Eindred and Eifear." His long, bony forefinger lingers on each of them.
The three men stand in dumbfounded silence.
Algwain scratches his head, trying to recall if he ever mentioned his name to the old man.
Eifear and Eindred exchange perplexed glances, mirroring Algwain's confusion.
Nirtesh hobbles to the cart, speaking over his shoulder. "In life, there are few coincidences. There is only purpose. Now finish the tea and douse the flames. We ride through the night without fear. In two turns, we will arrive at Merefen, the keep of Lord Aiseld."
"He's one crazy bastard," Eifear whispers.
"The strangest peddler I've ever met," Algwain says, rubbing his temples. "That being said, he's tended to us well, and by the old god, I need some sleep." He lets out a long yawn, and a sorrowful expression clouds his grim face. "We'll have time to mourn the fallen soon enough, and by the old god, I hope we travel untroubled."
"What about the bairn?" Eindred looks at the girl sleeping in the bundle of rags.
Algwain nods to himself, "Lord Aiseld is a good man. He will take her in and find her a place in his household. A better life than tending goats. If she's fortunate, she'll serve in the main house. I'll do my best for her."
"I reckon there's something in this tea," Eifear stifles a long, drawn yawn.
They climb into the back of the wooden cart, wrapping themselves in the warming woolen blankets. The cob lurches forward, and they drift into a deep, dreamless sleep. The effects of the tea take hold, the cart rocks them like babes, and sleep holds them tight.
***
Algwain stirs from his slumber, his mind foggy, his aches and pains eased, but still radiating a distant warmth. His vision blurs as he stares with narrowed eyes into a brilliant white glow. A cold winter wind gusts, carrying icy sleet that stings his face.
The old peddler's staff creates a wall of light that surrounds the horse and cart, forming a shimmering plasma dome. The brilliant light casts sharp and elongated shadows from the passing silhouettes of trees and boulders.
Eindred and Eifear awaken, blinking against the ethereal light. Dazzled by the brilliance, they instinctively shield their faces, the afterglow lingering behind their closed eyes.
"I thought you said we would travel untroubled?" Algwain clambers to his knees, raising his voice over the howling wind. He gazes in awe as the peddler's staff pulsates with a radiant, luminous light.
"Yes, Master Algwain, fear not is what I said," the peddler glances over his shoulder. "Now, relax and sleep."
"Sleep? Are you mad?" Algwain falls back as the cart lurches forward. He peers through the ghostly dome of light, where countless Umbal pursue them with wild, vicious shrieks. The Black General rides atop a black destrier, positioned at the rear of the pursuit.
The staff's ethereal white light slices through the encroaching Umbal, severing their limbs in vibrant hues of electric blue. Still, the merciless Umbal charge against the wall of light, their umbra bodies exploding in showers of glittering plasma rain.
The old peddler stands tall and firm, rooted like an oak, unyielding as iron, as the cob gallops onward. He raises his voice in an unknown language, booming with the power of a raging storm.
The wind carries distant whispers, the faintest sound of a singing choir, emanating from the shrouded heavens. A whistling sound slices through the air, and the earth inhales, consuming all sound. In a silent pause, the world holds its breath, and time grinds to a halt. The thunderous clouds above recede, revealing a breathtaking sky filled with heavenly starlight. A meteor shower lights up the night with cosmic tails of argent silver. Countless diamond-like stars peer down from the heavens, like a celestial painting. The Great Eye of The One gazes upon them from his giant sapphire-blue pupil.
The Black General halts his charge.
A low whistle transforms into a deep, resonant thrum. The air crackles, then time exhales with a thunderous clap as he unleashes a blinding light from the peddlers staff. The ethereal light smashes like a tsunami through the charging Umbal, obliterating their bodies into balls of silvery dust.
The feral Umbal shriek as they retreat, racing back and fleeing into the depths of the cloaked night. The rolling wave of light engulfs them, pulling them back into the churn of ethereal waves. They take flight, soaring upward, fleeing into the night sky. Azure bolts of lightning illuminate the heavens, vaporizing the fleeing Umbal and shattering them into torrents of otherworldly radiance. Silver light rains down on the moors of Galt.
The cob settles into a gentle trot. Algwain's eagle soars above them, its vigilant gaze scanning the depths of the night, ever watchful, its beak and talons infused with white radiant light, yearning for shadow flesh.
The peddler sits and whistles a cheerful tune before turning to face the rear of the cart. In his cataract eye is the shining nebula of The One.
"Remember this, men of Galt. The brightest light shines in the darkest night."